


Embarrassed By All the Attention

by redeyedwrath



Series: Sterek Tumblr Ficlets [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Derek, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, Knight Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nerd Derek Hale, Prince Derek, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Stiles,” he whispers, trying to get himself to look Stiles in the eye. Apparently Stiles takes pity on him, because he places a finger underneath Derek’s chin and tilts it up. “Thank you.” </i>
</p><p><i>Stiles smiles gently, eyes kind as he says, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”</i><br/> </p><p>Or, in which Derek is a nerdy prince and head over heels for his favorite knight, Stiles Stilinski</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embarrassed By All the Attention

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a totally self-indulgent fic. Like everything about this is my favorite thing ever (as in, genres and tropes). Someone on Tumblr prompted me and originally I was like "This is going to be a quick 1k" and then PLOT HAPPENED.
> 
> (Also [Olga](http://benaya-trash.tumblr.com) drew [a thing](http://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/post/148854351612/demisexualhale-he-totally-fangirled-on-the-inside) for it which is!!!! So cool ^^)
> 
> I hope you guys like it ^^
> 
>  **TW:** Non-graphic injuries

_I'm gonna tear out the thread_  
_One by one from your skin_  
_To your bones_  
_Feel embarrassed_  
_By all the attention_

**\- I Don't Care If You're Contagious, Pierce the Veil**

* * *

 

“Derek,” someone says and Derek’s head snaps up to look at the doorway. There are few people who disturb him when he’s reading, and they’re mostly family, but this doesn’t sound like Laura or Cora.

Derek swallows. He doesn’t see Stiles often, but every time he does Derek never wants him to leave.

“Your sister asked me to fetch you,” Stiles says, eyes kind as he looks at Derek. It makes him flush, an uncomfortable itch under his skin that prompts him to move, to do _something_.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, because he can’t concentrate like this. Stiles is standing in the doorway in his casual gear, just a loose tunic and drawstring pants and he looks so good that Derek feels a tingle of _something_ shoot down his spine.

“Come with me?” Stiles asks, small smile on his face. Derek can feel himself flush, he hadn’t been aware he was staring. He quickly gathers his books and tucks them under his arm, following Stiles out of the library.

This isn’t the first time Stiles has had to pull him out of his books; Derek spends most of his days in the library. He would say he was sorry, but he rarely has any further duties and life in the castle isn’t exciting.

“You never stop reading, do you?” Stiles asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. It still throws Derek sometimes, the familiarity with which Stiles addresses him. There’s no one else in the Hale Lands except for his direct family who talks to him like that.

“I like reading,” he says, shrugging. The corners of Stiles’ mouth twitch upwards.

“It’s good that you’re doing something you like,” Stiles says, absentmindedly scratching his stomach through his tunic. Derek swallows and tries not to follow the movement with his eyes. Something about Stiles’ strong fingers makes him stop, sometimes.

“I guess,” he says, voice soft. He bites his lip; he’s known Stiles for three years now but Stiles still makes him nervous. “Are you doing what _you_ like, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

Stiles stops, laying a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm and burns even through Derek’s multiple layers. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the callouses of Stiles’ hand or if they’re real.

“My Prince,” Stiles says, voice stern. Derek snaps his eyes up to meet Stiles; he can count the number of times Stiles has addressed him by his title on one hand. “There’s nothing you could ask me that I wouldn’t give.”

Stiles’ eyes are deep and honest and brown, _so brown_. The kind of brown that Derek’s only read about in his stories. He flushes and tries not to break their eye contact. He’s a Prince. A knight isn’t supposed to make him feel nervous and jittery, but he _is_.

“But to answer your question; yes,” Stiles says, turning away and walking ahead like nothing happened. Derek feels like he almost imagined the moment. “I do enjoy fighting for you.”

Derek frowns. He’s never known Stiles to be anything but careful with his words, always thinking, always considering if what he’s saying is smart. The phrasing of his answer is off, like he’s doing this for _Derek_ and not for the good of the kingdom. Derek’s heart pounds in his chest.

“That’s good,” Derek says. He sees Stiles’ mouth twitch again and it makes something in his chest constrict. Suddenly it’s so hard to breathe.

“Good indeed,” Stiles echoes, motioning Derek forward. They’re at Laura’s personal quarters now, where Stiles can only enter with explicit permission. Derek swallows. He doesn’t want Stiles to leave yet.

“I do hope I see you again soon,” Stiles says, voice warm. Derek nods, and finds that he means it.

He enters Laura’s room to stop himself from watching Stiles walk away. Laura’s sitting near the fireplace, a book in her hand and completely relaxed. Derek frowns; he was under the impression that Laura needed him for something.

“You asked for me?” Derek says, watching as Laura turns to him with a smirk. He knows that look, has seen it a thousand times when they were younger and Laura convinced him to do something stupid. Nothing good can come of it.

“Dear brother,” she says, smile unwavering. “Your cheeks are rather red. Whatever has happened?”

He brings up a hand to cover his face – Laura’s right; his cheeks are _burning_. He shifts his weight; Stiles still throws him off balance, every time. He hates that Laura finds such a joy in torturing him.

“Did you actually need me for something or did you ask for me just so you could practice your sadistic tendencies?” he asks, genuinely pissed about having to leave the library. He knows he spends too much time in there, he _knows_ , but Laura has no right to do with him whatever she wants, even if she is the heir to the throne.

“Do you really think that low of me?” she says, standing up and walking towards him. She pats his cheek. “I’d really think that seeing your favorite knight would lessen your contempt for me just a little.”

He glares at her and her grin widens in response. Some days he wishes he would’ve been the oldest born just so he could’ve bossed Laura around, but then he remembers he’d have to rule a kingdom. He’s not sure he’d be good at that. He’d much rather lock himself in the library.

“Stiles isn’t my favorite anything,” he bites out, trying to deter Laura.

“Are you sure?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “You speak of him with so much familiarity, almost as if you know each other intimately.”

The images flash through his brain and Derek can do nothing to stop them. He thinks of Stiles and he knowing each other intimately; Stiles under him, begging Derek to take him, all slick skin and playing muscles as Derek bites at the curve of his shoulder. Derek under _Stiles_ , hearing Stiles whisper soft praise in his ear, Stiles’ strong fingers pressing inside of him, further and further until Derek sees _stars_.

“No need to get so excited,” Laura says, snapping him out of his daze. She eyes his crotch with amusement and Derek flushes, cupping his hand over the area to hide himself. The pants didn’t hide _anything_.

“I hate you,” he says, glaring at Laura and stomping out of her bedroom. Laura’s laughter follows him down the hall.

-

Derek revisits the images that night, taking his cock in his hand, stroking as he imagines Stiles’ hands all over him. As he imagines Stiles kissing him, taking his mouth, pressing biting kisses into Derek’s neck like he _owns_ Derek, like Derek belongs to him. His hand twists in the sheet, mouth opening as he shoots all over himself.

He cleans up after himself and blushes as he thinks about what he’s done. He just got off thinking about _Stiles_.

He’s so utterly and irrevocably in love. It’s ridiculous.

-

As much as Derek usually despises walking around in the empty castle, it’s worse when Stiles is away. Not that he sees Stiles a lot whenever he’s not on a mission, but he does, sometimes. And that’s enough for Derek, no matter how much it leaves him aching for more.

Another bad thing about Stiles being sent away is that it makes Derek nervous and jittery. He gets distracted when reading novels, concerned about Stiles’ wellbeing. It’s early spring and the weather is far from soft up North.

Derek’s fingers tighten around the edge of the table. It’s already full of scratches and Derek probably shouldn’t create more, but he can’t bring himself to let go. The thought of Stiles getting hurt, whether it be by a man’s hand or dumb luck, makes it hard to breathe.

He walks back to his own quarters, ignoring the way he seems so small compared to the cool, grey stones of the hallway. Stiles is due to be back today, and Derek can’t focus.

Derek’s just started reading in the quiet of his room when the door bursts open. Cora’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, standing up. Cora’s hair is abnormally frazzled, like she’s been running her hands through it.

“It’s Stiles,” she says, voice high-pitched and frantic. “He’s hurt.”

Derek barely resists the urge to swear - and only does because it would be unbecoming.

“Take me to him,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, but the way he bolts past Cora probably gives away his nervousness. Stiles has gotten hurt before, but not badly enough to actually warrant Derek’s presence.

Cora doesn’t try to keep up with him. They both know he’s faster and he’s not going to wait for her. His heart’s pounding because what if - what if Stiles is _dying_?

The doors bang loudly against the wall as he throws them open but Derek can’t bring himself to care. There, in the middle of the room is Stiles, face contorted like he’s in pain, completely motionless.

“I gave him some medication and used some of the salve you recommended,” Deaton says, and Derek jumps. It’s not that he hadn’t expected Deaton to be there, but he’d been so focused on Stiles that he didn’t really notice Deaton standing next to him.

Derek rushes over to the bed, sending Deaton a smile he doesn’t mean. Deaton pushes a chair next to Stiles’ bed and Derek immediately sits on it, uncaring about impropriety because _Stiles is hurt_.

“D’rk?” Stiles mumbles, face mushed into the pillow. Derek jumps forward, laying a hand on Stiles’ forehead - it’s burning.

“Hey, hey,” he says, rubbing a thumb over the skin. “I’m here.”

Deaton hands him a damp cloth and he smiles gratefully before cleaning any residual blood. Stiles is covered in red splotches and Derek winces. Most of it is probably his.

“Feels nice,” he says, nuzzling into Derek’s touch. If he weren’t so worried, he’d smile.

“Deaton used some healing salve that should numb the pain,” he says, placing his hand on Stiles’. It twitches, like Stiles is planning to move, but decides against it against the last second.

He takes a second to look at Stiles. He’s frowning, hair pushed back and sweat beading on his forehead. His tunic is cut open and bandages line his chest. Derek can only imagine the gaping holes in his flesh, blood sluggishly pumping out of it, his body trying to heal itself but failing.

“I was so scared you were dead,” he whispers, voice trembling this time. It’s quiet enough that Stiles shouldn’t hear it, but he feels Stiles’ fingers close around his. He closes his eyes. He fears the day he’ll have to bury Stiles.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Stiles says, voice weak and soft. The callouses of his skin are rough against Derek’s fingers. Derek clutches his hand close. “I’m still alive.”

He nods, rubbing a hand over his face. He breathes in, out, again. Stiles smells like blood and sweat and Derek can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Stiles whispers, running a hand through Derek’s hair.

“Me too,” he says. Because at least if Stiles dies now, the last thing he’ll see is Derek.

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles says, trailing off at the end. The hand in Derek’s hair falls slack and for a second Derek is scared this is it. This was Stiles’ last breath.

When he looks up, Stiles mouth is open, soft breaths puffing out of it. Derek smiles and lets his head rest against Stiles’ side again.

He’ll stay until the end.

-

It’s a warm day in the middle of summer when he sees Stiles again. Stiles had been sent out on a mission – a peace mission this time, but a mission nonetheless – and the castle didn’t feel the same without him. Emptier, somehow, without Stiles’ vibrant laughter and babbling to fill up the cold stone halls.

Derek’s grateful that he gets to wear a simple tunic on days like these. Whenever there’s an audience he needs to look his best, but there’s nothing planned for today so he isn’t stuck in a stuffy vest. He’s looking for some sun, mostly because Laura had told him he’d looked pale as a ghost, and he walks into his favorite courtyard, one that’s usually quiet.

Instead, Stiles is standing there, wearing a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled up. His head’s thrown back in laughter and something in Derek’s chest squeezes. He’s missed hearing Stiles laugh.

“Come on, Scotty,” Stiles says, voice warm with amusement. “Show me your best then.”

Scott sticks his tongue out at Stiles, beckoning him forward and Derek is filled with a mix of amusement and jealousy. There’s a casualness between Scott and Stiles that he will likely never have, but he’s not sure if he wants this kind of casualness, either.

He walks toward them, careful not to make too much sound. If he’s lucky they won’t notice him, and he won’t have to interrupt. He tries to sneak past one of the pillars, walking on his tiptoes, when Scott glances over Stiles’ shoulder and his eyes widen.

“My Prince,” Scott says, bowing. Scott had arrived together with Stiles at the castle, but unlike Stiles went to work in the kitchens. He’d call Scott a friend, almost.

“No need for such formalities,” Derek says, waving him away with a small smile. He wants to feel normal for a while. Stiles eyes him with amusement. “Is it okay if I watch you? Or am I wasting your time by being here?”

“You’re never a waste of my time,” Stiles says. Derek’s heart skips a beat. “You’re more than welcome to watch as I kick Scott’s ass.”

Scott squawks indignantly in response, but Derek barely hears it. He can’t look away from Stiles, the way his long fingers wave capably around, the way the sun reflects off his hair, making it glow. Stiles looks beautiful like this, framed by light and body relaxed.

“Well?” Stiles says, his voice carrying tones of laughter. “Are you going to get comfortable or are you going to keep standing close? I’d hate to have to hurt you.”

Derek flushes – he hadn’t realized he’d been staring. Stiles doesn’t seem to be offended by it, but instead entertained. Derek should really stop thinking about Stiles like this. It makes him unable to focus on anything.

“Sorry,” Derek says, stepping back to settle in between two pillars. The stone is hard and cold and he flinches when he sits down. It’s not that he’d known he’d be watching this, so he couldn’t have prepared himself, but a cushion would be nice right about now.

He turns over his hands, picking some dust from under a fingernail when something waves in his face. When he looks up, Stiles is staring down at him, eyes twinkling.

“Take my vest,” he says, pushing the fabric into Derek’s hands. “The stone can’t be comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Derek mumbles, his face heating up. Stiles grins at him when he folds the jacket and Derek has to resist the urge to bury his nose in the fabric. He bets it’d smell like _Stiles_ , all soft and warm with a hint of sweat.

“Anything for you,” Stiles says, the smile on his face softening until only the corners are turned up. Derek swallows and tries to pretend his heart isn’t beating so fast he can hear it in his ears.

“Well?” Scott’s voice comes from behind them. “Are you coming or not?”

Stiles smirks and turns around on his heel, his tunic flapping with his stride. Derek looks away before Scott can catch him looking, though judging from the smirk Scott sends his way he didn’t succeed. God, this is mortifying; a kitchen boy seeing him look indecently at a knight.

“That eager to be destroyed?” Stiles teases, crossing his arms. It emphasizes the muscles in his arms and Derek has to remind himself he’s not allowed to think about Stiles like this. Stiles’ stance is relaxed, like Scott doesn’t pose a threat, and he probably doesn’t; Stiles has faced off against the kingdom’s greatest, most bloodthirsty enemies.

“If anyone’s going to be destroyed it’s you,” Scott says, a small frown on his face. They both know he’s probably going to lose.

“Come on,” Stiles says, motioning for Scott to charge at him. “Prove it.”

Scott’s face gives nothing away, completely blank, but Derek can see the way the corners of his mouth are twitching, like he’s trying not to smile. Derek can relate; Stiles brings out the best in everyone.

Scott runs at him, swinging his fists at Stiles’ face. He’s good - way too good for a kitchen boy - but Stiles is better. Scott is all raw strength but Stiles has agility, is quick on his feet without any armor.

Stiles expertly dodges every punch, every kick Scott sends his way and he laughs like it’s child’s play. Derek swallows around the lump in his throat. He can see the way Stiles’ muscles play underneath his thin shirt, the way the tendons in Stiles’ forearm flex as he puts an arm around Scott’s middle and pushes him to the ground.

“Uncle, uncle!” Scott yells as Stiles pushes his head down into the mud. Stiles laughs loudly, head thrown back as he sits on top of Scott. Derek swallows, glancing away. He should try to avoid staring at Stiles for too long.

“Well done,” he says, standing up and brushing some dust off his pants. He grabs Stiles vest and walks toward the two, hoping they won’t see how flustered he is. After all, it’s just a game between two friends - nothing that should make Derek feel like this.

Stiles stands up, extending a hand to Scott to help him up. Scott takes it with a small smile and Derek clenches his hands into fists. Just _friends_ , he reminds himself. Nothing to be jealous of.

“Aren’t you going to reward me?” Stiles asks, a challenge in his voice as he raises his eyebrows. Derek flushes; he can only come up with one way to reward Stiles, and he isn’t sure it’d be much appreciated.

“What would you like, oh brave knight?” Derek asks, watching as Stiles’ grin grows wider. He swears Stiles’ eyes flicker down his body for a second, but it’s gone when he blinks and he might’ve just imagined it.

Stiles steps forward slowly, until there are few meters between them. He’d forgotten how beautiful Stiles is up close, all moles and smiles and laugh lines. His eyes are dark and it makes Derek’s skin buzz.

“Would you give me anything?” Stiles asks, voice suddenly low. Derek flushes, shifting his weight. He can feel himself growing harder under Stiles’ gaze and he thanks God that he’s wearing looser pants today.

“Yes,” he whispers, watching as Stiles takes another step forward. Then another. Derek shifts; he’s never been this close to Stiles before, never had Stiles look at him this intensely. His fingers twitch at his side, itching to move, to pull Stiles closer. Stiles glances down at Derek’s lips, pupils blown wide and the look he gives Derek is dark, intense.

“Sir Stilinski!” a voice booms through the courtyard. Stiles jumps a few steps back and Derek immediately misses his closeness. “Your presence is requested at an emergency meeting.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, mouth drawing down into a frown. Derek flushes and looks away – he doesn’t know what that moment was, but for a moment, it felt like Stiles was going to kiss him.

“Later, Scott,” Stiles says, waving at Scott before turning to Derek with a smirk and a mocking bow. “My Prince.”

Derek nods, trying to resist the urge to bite his lip. Stiles winks and walks away, disappearing together with Sir Boyd. Derek resolutely doesn’t stare after him, but Scott looks at him with a knowing smirk nonetheless.

It’s only a few minutes later when Derek realizes he’s still holding Stiles’ vest.

-

His mother and father come by his room that night. Derek panics for a second, thinking they’re here because of Stiles, but he knows that wouldn’t cause the heavy looks on their faces. He swallows and sits down in the chair opposite to his parents.

“Derek,” his mom starts, leaning forward a little. His dad places an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “You know about the Argent family?”

Derek nods, a chill running down his spine. He’s met a few of them – King Gerard and Princess Kate – and they were intense and cruel. He’d watched the king kick his horse a little too hard, watched as the princess yelled at a servant. In the interest of diplomacy, there’d been nothing he could do to prevent it from happening.

“Their kingdom has become unruly, chaotic,” his mother continues. “There are signs that they might try to take over ours.”

Derek swallows, the bottom of his stomach dropping. He fiddles with a loose strand of fabric. There hasn’t been a war in years, not since before Derek was born. It’s been peaceful, quiet, almost twenty-three years now. He should’ve known it was too good to be true.

“Nothing bad will happen to us, right?” he asks his mother. She smiles, but it’s tired, fake. Derek knows they’re in danger.

“We’ll try,” his dad says. “Stilinski, Boyd and Reyes have made preparations. The castle is secured.”

Derek nods, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He’s not sure if he’s prepared for anything on this grand of a scale. That means he won’t get to see Stiles for a while. Derek bites his lip, pretending the sinking feeling in his stomach isn’t disappointment. Stiles had just come back.

“It’ll be okay, Derek,” his mother says, brushing a hand through his hair before leaving. Derek nods, and doesn’t make any move to get up.

He hopes his mother is right.

-

Derek wakes up with a hand covering his mouth. He can’t see anything, can’t _breathe_ and he tries to scream but it’s no use.

“Be silent,” his attacker whispers. Derek tries to bite his hand, but the guy presses a knife against his throat, cold blade glinting in the moonlight. He swallows, trying not to cry. He knows most of the men are sleeping right now. “Get up.”

His head is racing, trying to find an escape, but he knows he doesn’t have a chance. Not only is he unarmed, but weapons are not his thing. He prefers books and diplomacy over violence. He resists the urge to hyperventilate because those books will do him nothing good now.

The guy is moving them towards the window when the door to his room slams open, cold air rushing in together with - with _Stiles_. Derek tries to rush away, tries to get to him, but his attacker pulls him close, pressing the blade against his skin.

Stiles is standing in the doorway, braced for attack. He looks fierce, sweat dripping down his brow, weapon tight in his hand. He doesn’t take his eyes off Derek for a second, eyebrows moving like he’s trying to tell Derek something.

“Unhand him!” Stiles shouts, his voice rumbling through the room, like a lightning bolt. He’s powerful like this, in his element, and Derek thinks that he wouldn’t mind Stiles being the last thing he sees before he dies.

The guy presses the knife harder against his throat and Derek hisses as it nicks him, a drop of blood dripping down the side of his neck. Stiles’ eyes harden even more. Derek tries to convey to _please leave before you get hurt_ but Stiles stubbornly stays put, eyes calculating.

Then the guy leans down to lick the blood of his neck and Derek shudders as he feels his tongue. He’s never – he shouldn’t – the only one who can do that is _Stiles_. The guy’s tongue feels slimy and _wrong wrong wrong_ and Derek’s almost about to cry when something whizzes past him.

The guy cries out in pain, his hold on Derek lessening for a second and Derek takes the opportunity to elbow him in the gut. He runs away until he’s safely behind Stiles, pressing his hand to the skin of his neck. Stiles charges forward, sword swinging down and Derek closes his eyes, unwilling to see Stiles kill someone.

He waits for the scream, the spine-chilling shriek of someone dying, but all he hears is a squelching noise and a blade clattering to the ground and that’s it. That’s the end of a human life. That could’ve been _him_.

The stone is cold underneath his hands and it grounds him, the chilling sensation of it such a contrast with the burning in his veins. Someone’s arms close around him and he tries to struggle, tries to leave, but they don’t let up.

“It’s over, Derek,” Stiles whispers, pulling Derek tighter against him. Derek clings to him; he doesn’t care about proper anymore. “It’s over. He’s dead.”

Derek nods against Stiles’ collarbone, letting Stiles’ scent fill his lungs and calm him down. Stiles’ hand presses softly against his back, pulling him closer and Derek goes willingly. He _needs_ to be with Stiles right now.

“You’re okay,” Stiles mumbles on repeat, like Derek is a frightened animal. Derek clutches at him, digs his fingernails into the meat of Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles arms are tight around him, so close and even though Derek’s still shaking he has never felt safer.

“Stiles,” he whispers, trying to get himself to look Stiles in the eye. Apparently Stiles takes pity on him, because he places a finger underneath Derek’s chin and tilts it up. “Thank you.”

Stiles smiles gently, eyes kind as he says, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Derek tightens his hands in Stiles’ tunic, heart pounding, because he can’t _do_ this anymore. He leans forwards and presses their lips together, grasping Stiles’ shoulder to keep him steady.

Stiles’ lips are soft against his and so _pliant_ and willing. He presses harder against Stiles, clenching his hands in Stiles’ tunic and for a few seconds, Stiles kisses back, lips gliding over his, so delicate, Stiles’ hands trembling against his shoulders.

Then Stiles pushes him away with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open in shock - or is it disgust? Derek feels his stomach drop, his eyes blurring over.

“Derek, I - I can’t,” Stiles says, lost for words. He scrambles up, breathing hard and Derek wants to cry because he thought Stiles loved him but - “I have to go.”

Stiles scrambles up, leaving Derek behind. Derek’s lips tingle and he bites at them to make the feeling go away, his stomach turning because he _kissed Stiles_ and Stiles pushed him away. Stiles rejected him.

Stiles hates him.

-

It’s on a cold winter night, when the snow is falling, that Derek makes his final decision. Stiles, if not for his loyalty, then for having to suffer the burden of Derek’s feelings for him, deserves an apology. He’s sitting on the couch near the fireplace when the door is opened, a slight creak giving the motion away.

His head shoots up, watching as Stiles walks in. Stiles’ face is closed-off, a blank canvas, and Derek feels his heart _ache_ before he stamps down on it. Stiles doesn’t deserve that.

“Laura said you wanted to speak to me?” Stiles says, standing rigidly in the doorway of Derek’s room. Derek nods, clenching his fingers and motioning for Stiles to step forward. Stiles does, stand rigid. Derek knows he’s only here because Laura _commanded_ him.

“Please, sit down,” he says, nodding to the chair opposite of him. Stiles sits down, his hands carefully placed in his lap. Derek feels cold in spite of the fire crackling in the fireplace.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking down at his hands. He feels so useless; all he has are words and they’re never enough. He doesn’t want Stiles to hate him. “I never should’ve done that. It was improper and you didn’t ask for it.”

He sees Stiles tense up, muscles seizing as Derek speaks. Derek swallows and bites his lip until it stings permanently, a reminder that this needs to be done. Stiles deserves an apology.

“I don’t understand,” Stiles says. Derek flinches and tries not to pick at his cuticles. “I thought - I didn’t - you don’t regret it?”

Derek wants to laugh with how hopeless this feels. He thought Stiles knew about this, _everyone_ knows about this. His fingernails dig into his palms and he wishes they were sharper so he could feel the blood flow, as a reminder that he can’t have this.

“I’ve loved you for a while now,” he whispers, trying not to look away from Stiles’ eyes. The only sound in the room is the popping of wood in the fireplace. Stiles is - for once - completely motionless, eyes big as he looks at Derek.

“Me too, Derek, _oh my god_ ,” Stiles breathes out, so quiet Derek almost misses it. He feels like he can’t breathe. “Me too.”

Stiles shifts forward, his eyes intense and Derek sees no lie in them - why would Stiles lie? But that would mean that. Stiles _likes_ him.

“But you pushed me away?” he asks. His voice is tiny, barely a whisper compared to the rustle of their clothes, but it makes Stiles’ head shoot up like he hadn’t expected Derek to say anything.

“I thought it was the shock,” Stiles says, voice begging. “I didn’t want to have you if it wasn’t real.”

“I want you,” Derek rushes to say, his hand shooting out to grab onto Stiles’. He doesn’t want Stiles to think this isn’t real, that Derek doesn’t feel the same. He wants Stiles in every way possible. He wants to hold Stiles’ hand and kiss him and he wants Stiles to press him into this couch, _anything_.

“Do you now?” Stiles says, one eyebrow raised and oh. Oh, he said that aloud.

Derek nods and he can feel the flush creeping up his neck, wrapping itself around the skin and making it hard to breathe. Stiles leans forward a little, his hand pressing into the cushion next to Derek’s thigh as he moves out of his chair.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Stiles says, voice filled with concern and eyes dark as he positions himself in Derek’s lap.

Derek shakes his head vigorously but stops when he feels a hand at his neck, fingernails digging slightly into the side and he wants Stiles to just do _something_. Stiles’ lips skim over his with every exhale, their chests brushing together and Derek wants to pull him close, wants to fall into him. He lifts his arms to wrap them around Stiles and do just that, but Stiles leans back, and Derek whimpers because all he wants is for Stiles to just _touch him_.

“Beg me,” Stiles says, a small smirk on his face, and Derek is torn between punching him and kissing him, but the sheer _command_ in Stiles’ face makes heat spread through him, shooting directly to his cock. Derek lifts his hands, trailing them up Stiles’ arms and fiddling with the short strands at the nape of Stiles’ neck. He opens his mouth to just say something, to _beg_ him to _please, just do something_ , but he can’t seem to find the words, mouth hanging open as he stares.

“Please,” he breathes without thinking, desperate for Stiles to do something. Stiles wastes no time in bringing their mouths together, desperately licking over his lips. Derek opens his mouth a silent moan - a request for _oh my god, please more_. Stiles’ hands are everywhere, opening his shirt, skimming over his shoulders with light touches, making him arch into Stiles for more because it’s not _enough_.

His lungs burn when Stiles pulls away, gasping for air. Stiles is staring at him, cheeks flushed, and he looks so _ruined_ , just because they kissed. Stiles smirks like he knows exactly what Derek’s thinking and snakes his hand around Derek’s waist as the other slides up his chest over his nipple and _God_.

He moans from deep in his chest, because Stiles keeps brushing over them, pinching them between his fingers and he can feel his cock harden in his pants, pressing painfully against the fabric.

“I’ve thought about this,” Stiles whispers, a dirty confession that Derek wants to tattoo onto his skin. “You under me. Looking at me like this.”

Stiles leans forward, biting at Derek’s throat like he wants to _claim him_ , mark Derek as his and keep him there forever. Derek blinks, trying to compose himself, but then Stiles slides down his chest, lips brushing against every inch of skin they can find and Stiles just keeps _staring_ at him.

Derek moans when Stiles’ mouth closes around a nipple, his fingers fiddling with the other, setting Derek on fire from inside out, tearing up his gut and destroying him. He threads his fingers in Stiles’ short hair to keep him there.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” Stiles breathes into his skin when he pulls away. “God, you look so good like this.”

A whine tumbles from his lips without his permission, joined by another when Stiles presses against him, his cock hard against Derek’s thigh and _Stiles is hard for him_. He tugs Stiles up, up and kisses him, biting at his lips.

Stiles’ mouth curls against his in a crooked smile and he sucks Derek’s lower lip into his mouth, letting it fall back as he pulls away, demanding that Derek give in to him and God, Derek finds that he wants to.

He groans into Stiles’ mouth when Stiles grinds against him, moving his hips in a torturously slow rhythm, but it feels so good. Derek can’t form any coherent words, his mind still stuck on _Stiles above him_.

“Your tunic,” he mumbles into Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles leans back slightly, looking at Derek like _that_ again and - Derek forgot what he wanted to say. Stiles’ stare is burning through him, his smug gaze glimmering and the corner of his lips curled up into an impossible smirk, staring down at Derek like he’s won a contest.

“What should I do with my tunic? Take it off, perhaps?” Stiles’ voice is low, his breath fanning out over Derek’s face and the only thing Derek can do is say, “ _Please please please_.”

Stiles keeps rolling his hips faster and faster against Derek’s as he pulls off his tunic, pressing against him harder every time, and Derek clenches his fingers in an effort not to come. Stiles’ fingers brush over his nipples again and he arches his back, pressing into Stiles.

Derek feels like he’s going to explode, his stomach tightening as the pressure keeps building and building and he digs his nails into Stiles’ shoulder, trying to hold onto something because everything feels like _too much_.

“Oh my God,” Derek mumbles into the fabric of the couch as he presses his face into it, trying to muffle the sounds tumbling from his lips, but it’s so hard when Stiles just keeps grinding down on him. His hips jerk forward as his whole body tightens before dispersing like hot sparks all over, and Derek swears he’s on fire.

Stiles moans against his shoulder, back arching as he presses against Derek before he slumps down. Derek smiles, the corner of his mouth turning up. He never expected to have something like this, to have _Stiles_ , in a million years.

“Was it good?” Stiles mumbles after a while when they’ve cooled down, pressing a soft kiss against Derek’s shoulder. Derek nods and buries his face in Stiles’ collarbone.

He doesn’t think it’ll ever get better.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was uh. A thing. I hope you liked it?
> 
> Thanks to [ladydrace](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com) for spotting all the inconsistentencies in this!
> 
>  
> 
> [So I have a Tumblr? Watch me scream about gays there](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


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